


Carry On

by AgentAraxi



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Could be seen as one-sided on the WoL's side, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Guilt, M/M, Non-Specific Warrior of Light, Other, Spoilers, Survivor Guilt, dealing with death, suggested romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 19:41:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12260829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentAraxi/pseuds/AgentAraxi
Summary: SPOILERS FOR THE VAULT.I'm almost 2 years late to the party but here we go.**************************With a cup of hot chocolate in their hands the warrior remembers. They remember him and what he meant to them.





	Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post on here. Also I know I'm almost 2 years late to this but I only started playing 6 months ago or so. Haurchefant was the best boy and his death really messed me up. This is how I imagine the Warrior of Light is like in the aftermath. Comments are definitely welcome.

It's on the peaceful nights, surrounded by cold and delicate blankets of snow, that they can't sleep. Their hands wrapped around a mug that no longer radiated the heat they so desire. In some ways that chilled mug reflects themselves; an absence of function. The hot chocolate no longer hot. The Warrior lacking the will to keep fighting. So it had become a nightly ritual to sit alone cradling that mug as if it contained the very world they were trying to protect.

 

Not once did they drink from it. Not since the day _he_ died. The Warrior choked on the thought, asphyxiated by the weight of their loss. It was almost too much to bear - all the responsibility of being savior. All the hopes of the people. But more then anything it was too much to bear the _guilt_. So many had given their lives so that the Warrior could carry on. All the strength, all the radiating kindness, all the unbreakable conviction they seemed to have was nothing but an act. A performance to give others the strength everyone assumed the Warrior had.

 

But here on the peaceful nights, when Eorzea wasn't up in flames, they allowed the weakness. In which they could be the same as everyone else and not just be the Warrior of Light. When he was still with them they hadn't needed nights like these. Because unlike the rest of the realm he saw the Warrior for what they were. _Mortal_. Haurchefant had seen what most others were too afraid to address. The fact that the Warrior of Light had once been as normal as any other adventurer. That they had fears and emotions and that there were chinks in the armour. 

 

The Warrior relinquished the mug, knuckles white from their grip, placing it on the cold stone next to them. The hot chocolate was a reminder. A reminder of everything he had ever been and would have been for them. He had always been so sure of the Warrior, even after seeing them as mortal. After seeing them as _more_. Despite the sickening feeling in their stomach they couldn't hold back the memories and silent, gasping sobs shook their body.

 

Haurchefant had offered them hot chocolate the night they fled to him for help. Had assured them they could pick up the pieces and carry on. That's all he had wanted for them, for them to live. But not like they had been. He wanted them to truly _LIVE_ and for the most fleeting of moments they had. By his side in Ishgard. Away from the politics of Eorzea, away from the blame. They had been welcomed into his home and into his family. For the first time since they felled Ifrit the Warrior fought not because they had to, but for themselves. For him.

 

He has this effect on the Warrior, born from his desire to right the wrongs of the world, that had inspired them to keep going. It started as friendship but as time went on something had grown between the two. Something that blurred the lines for the Warrior. It was beautiful and pure, a reflection of their intentions. Of how they saw him. But in the final days of the fight, in the hallowed grounds of The Vault, their whole world came crashing down. Their heart shattering around them with the unfathomable loss. They knew. They knew even in that moment that they would never be able to wash or scrub away the way his blood clung and dried to their skin.

 

That visage continues to haunt them in every moment they close their eyes. In every dream they have. The gaping hole in his chest a physical reflection of how the Warrior felt. In the nightmares they would still see the color draining from his skin and his painful gasps as he struggled to hold on. They would see his eyes gloss over and his lips move, telling the warrior what he had told them when they first came to him. To tell them they should smile and in turn, _carry on_.

 

The tightness of their chest was familiar now. As constant as their very breath, as shallow as it was against their tight lips. It was on nights like these, quiet and serene, that it they were enslaved and held prisoner by the guilt. The guilt that they had been the one to live. That spear had been meant for them and if they had been patient, had not been over taken by their rage, he would still be alive. 

 

But his final wish was clear and so they honored him the only way they knew how. They smiled and they fought. They would continue the fight until their body gave out and betrayed them. The Warrior was kept in motion only by the memories and the way only he could ever make them feel. This heavy burden would always be theirs. The weight that he had given his life for theirs and that many more would follow in his steps.

 

He had always been too good for them. Too kind and accepting. When the morning came and the Warrior resumed their charade the mug would sit forgotten on the stone of the wall. And when those closest the Warrior saw the full hot chocolate they always knew. Knew that the Warrior would always leave a part of themselves with it. The part that would always be _his_. 


End file.
